The Sentinels There once was a village

She hummed, his words affirming what her soul recognized in his. Preservation, respect, duty.

He spoke of men and control; her eyes dimmed, ears drooping just slightly, as she murmured, Then I have met many liars in my womanhood. All met with tooth or claw—usually both. Would it ever be different? 

I appreciate your sense of control. Her body says otherwise, but her heart whispered something soft, almost inaudible, but surely there between its beating.

And then part of it broke at his reveal—he was a widower, with children—though older now—but still left without their mother. Her ears swiveled back and down, a sadness heavy in her green eyes. 

Loss withstands time, that I know well, and for that I extend my deepest sympathies. She took another step towards him, heat forgotten in their shared grief of loss in family. The lupine remembered herself in time, stopping just out of reach.

We plan to honor those who have passed here—if you’d allow me, I’d like to plant something in their names. Lilies, maybe? Or, something that you think would represent them? Only if you want to, of course.

She had completely forgotten in her shock at seeing him at her borders about the task she had given to Kirain. A blush crept over her cheeks, eyes averting as she mentioned it. I…hope the ones I sent with my dear friend, Kirain, for you and your pack made it before you left to come this way. If not—well, surprise? She rolled her eyes internally at herself.

Smooth—very smooth.